


don't hesitate any longer

by Ann1215



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Crossdressing, Dancing, M/M, Masturbation, Thighs, atsumu wears a crop top and a skirt, implied bottom atsumu, specifically omi's fixation on atsumu's thighs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:47:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28668726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ann1215/pseuds/Ann1215
Summary: It's tradition, apparently.Atsumu draws the short straw, and has a month to prepare a showcase for the upcoming MSBY Black Jackals' fan meeting. He doesn't expect Natsu-chan of all people to steer him towards this direction, but desperate times call for even more desperate measures.***“Actually, I just saw something the other day,” Natsu says, taking her phone out and quickly tapping at it a few times before pulling up a video. “And I think you could totally pull it off, Tsumu-san!”Despite his reservations, Atsumu leans over to watch, and then promptly chokes when he registers what’s happening on the screen.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 28
Kudos: 586
Collections: Team MSBY Black Jackal Haikyuu





	don't hesitate any longer

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by hwang chi yeol's cover of "adult ceremony" or "coming of age ceremony". look it up on youtube. no need to thank me.
> 
> also inspired by my incessant need to wreck atsumu.

**_— 30 days —_ **

Atsumu stares down at the straw in his hand, willing it to grow a couple of inches before his eyes.

It doesn’t.

“Aww, fuck.”

Barnes claps his shoulder, and it’s really because he’s leaning against Bokuto that his knees don’t immediately buckle. He can hear Inunaki snickering at him from the other side of the locker room; Meian’s smile directed towards him is equal parts sympathising and encouraging, and Atsumu wants to wipe it off their captain’s stupidly handsome face.

“Well, you’ve got four weeks to decide what you want to do for the event,” he says, fiddling with his own not-short straw that he’d picked out last. Atsumu glares at it instead of his own, because it’s currently being crushed in his fist. “Just tell the PR guys once you have that figured out so they can make the necessary preparations.”

From Bokuto’s other side, Shoyou peeks around and grins at him, flashing two thumbs up. “You’ll do great, Tsumu-san!”

“Yeah!” Bokuto agrees with an enthusiastic nod, nearly dislodging Atsumu off of him. “And if you don’t have any ideas, we can totally brainstorm together!”

Atsumu thinks of their last fan meeting, where Bokuto had performed a veritable circus of acrobatics, to the detrimental fear of both their coach, managers and public relations team. “Thanks, Bokkun. I’ll, uh, keep that in mind.”

Before anyone else can pipe up with an unhelpful remark, their captain draws their attention again, and Atsumu slumps with relief.

“Alright, that concludes today’s session, then. I’ll see you all in the morning,” and the rest of the team slowly trickles out of their locker room, most of them outright chuckling at Atsumu; even Sakusa’s got a twitch to his lips right before he covers it up with his mask and looks back at him.

Atsumu doesn’t wait for him to speak. “Omi-kun, if yer gonna laugh at my misery, I’d rather ya do it now instead of in front of everyone else. Maybe that way no one’ll believe ya got a funny bone in yer body.”

Sakusa snorts—it’s a rough sound from someone who looks as untouchable as him, but Atsumu kicks himself in his head for feeling like he’d made the other man laugh, even if it was at his expense.

(Especially when Sakusa doesn’t seem as distant when his eyes crinkle with amusement and directed at Atsumu.)

“I think I’ll save it for the actual event. See you tomorrow, Miya,” he answers.

“Yeah, see ya.”

With Sakusa gone, he’s the only one left, stewing in the quiet as he wonders yet again, why their former MSBY seniors established this inane tradition of a sad excuse of show-and-tell event at every fan meeting they hold during the off-season of the V. League.

  
  


***

  
  


**_— 27 days —_ **

“Does it have to be a performance? Can’t you just bake up some cookies or desserts and hand them out as gifts?” Aran asks over drinks and dinner two days later. The _izakaya’s_ not too crowded, considering it was a Friday evening, but they’re still huddled together—him, Atsumu, Osamu and Rintarou, who was visiting for the weekend.

Atsumu blanches at the thought. “Dunno if I can make enough for 300 people.”

His brother laughs, and drawls, “I do that everyday. Pretty sure you only need a couple of days at most, ‘Tsumu.”

“That’s yer _job,_ asshole. Also I ain’t making cookies for a _special_ event, what kinda lame ass shit is that?” He ignores Aran’s sigh beside him, and adds, “Anyways, they said it’s gotta be some sorta showcase thing, but the only thing I ever bothered showcasing was volleyball, ‘cause that’s the only important part.”

Everyone except for Osamu hums in agreement, and takes a gulp of their beers.

The conversation after that steers into other directions, like the stray cat that comes by the Tachibana dorms that had taken a liking to Aran, and how Kita’s farm is involved in the process of developing some sort of new rice seed breed that’s supposedly healthier and more affordable, but the worry lingers in the back of Atsumu’s mind.

Four beers in, Rintarou straightens up in his seat, and sends Atsumu a look that promises trouble.

“The school festival in third year,” he simply states and Osamu nearly _dies_ laughing beside him. 

The drink in Atsumu’s hand almost slips out of his grasp in his shock, but he immediately rights it back up as he squawks, “Why the hell are ya bringing that up now?!”

But Rintarou’s already got his phone out, and his traitor of a twin brother continues to giggle, leaning back against the booth as he leans over to watch Rintarou poking around on his phone. Osamu’s giggles build up into full-blown laughter when Rintarou seems to have found what he was looking for, and glances at Atsumu. “Shit, I still can’t believe ya fucking won that competition.”

The competition in question, as Rintarou helpfully displays his screen towards Atsumu and Aran, was a cross-dressing beauty pageant and somehow, the gods hadn’t been kind to Atsumu even then, or they had a funny way of showing how much they cared, because he’d gotten dragged to represent his class (the basketball captain made a bet that he couldn’t do it and Atsumu was determined to win first dibs to their school’s gym access for the next three months) and somehow _won_ the whole damn thing.

In the photo, eighteen-year-old Atsumu is dressed in a white corset top that had nearly crushed his ribs, courtesy of the theatre department, with a pink ruffled skirt, black knee socks and sneakers. He’s also got one finger against his mouth, the other hand perched on his hip.

(He was admittedly more than just casually invested in winning; the thought of getting first dibs on the gym and not having to train at five in the morning for three months was an enticing one, and he used every single opportunity to gloat about it.)

“Why do ya even still have that?”

Beside him, Aran hums. “Oh, I remember this.”

Atsumu turns around too fast and nearly gives himself whiplash, which sends Osamu into titters once more. He grunts as he rubs the back of his neck. “You weren’t even there!”

Of course Rintarou pipes up with, “Ah, I sent it to Kita-san back then. Thought he would wanna know how well you were carrying the Inarizaki captainship legacy.”

A groan escapes him, and he wonders what the hell he’d seen in all of his former Inarizaki teammates to consider them his closest friends. Still, he rolls his eyes and takes a mouthful of his drink before saying, “So, ya telling me I should, what? Wear a dress or something for the fan meeting? And do what?”

Rintarou shrugs, and places his phone aside. It’s really due to several traumatic memories during their high school days together that Atsumu doesn’t even bother to reach for the phone to try and delete that photo of him. “Dunno, you figure it out. I gave you my suggestion, which is at least a little more creative than cookies. Sorry, Aran-san.”

“I take full offence, but I know you people don’t care.”

  
  


***

  
  


**_— 24 days —_ **

“Who even holds a gala on a Monday evening?”

Inunaki laughs as Atsumu directs the question towards their group, which consisted of their libero, Bokuto, Akaashi as Bokuto’s plus one, as well as one of the Japanese Volleyball Association reps and Bokuto’s best friend, Kuroo.

Kuroo flashes a smirk, shrugging as he takes a swig of his champagne. For someone who’s supposed to be the epitome of a successful career man, the guy sure doesn’t seem to care if he’s seen hanging out with his high school friends instead of schmoozing with the higher-ups. Atsumu supposes he should be doing that as well, but that’s what Meian and Coach Foster are for; all he’s gotta do is be good at volleyball and not make too much of a fool of himself on a daily basis.

“No idea, I had no part of that decision. I’m only here to, ah, persuade more people to join the cause,” Kuroo says, waggling his eyebrows.

Akaashi’s smile is playful when he comments, “Hinata was right. You do sound kind of like a loan shark when you say stuff like that.”

All three MSBY members burst into laughter at that, with Kuroo’s scandalised gasp at the apparent betrayal joining the chorus. “Chibi-chan said that?! Little brat, maybe he doesn’t want to be involved in that Kodzuken collab…” He trails off, adds, “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to have a chat with a former disciple of mine,” and leaves the group.

Inunaki asks before Atsumu can. “Former disciple?”

Bokuto nods, grinning at Akaashi dopily. _Uh oh._ “Karasuno started having training camps with us when Shoyou was in his first year, and we used to teach him how to block and spike. Akaashi was there with us too!” His boyfriend returns the grin with a soft smile of his own, and then it instantly disappears under Bokuto’s lips.

Atsumu meets his libero’s eyes and blurts out, “Hey, Omi-kun’s on his own, I’m gonna talk to him and make sure his face doesn’t drive away any potential sponsors, I’ll catch ya soon,” and quickly walks away without even listening to Inunaki’s equally flimsy excuse.

He _does_ like them, but Bokuto has a tendency to get overly carried away with affection, and Akaashi has a tendency to let Bokuto have his way. As he meanders through the crowd, he thinks back to his words, and scoffs quietly.

Even with Sakusa’s eternal scowl, nothing would drive the sponsors away from trying to get the man to promote new brands and products; tall, pale and good-looking to boot, until he opens his mouth, anyway. Sakusa tries, he knows, in the same way that Atsumu tries a bit more, but there’s no taking out the asshole from Tokyo and Hyogo, he surmises. It doesn’t make Sakusa any less likeable, unfortunately.

Atsumu used to think he had pretty good taste, crushing on Kita-san and then Shoyou for that brief two-month period, but Sakusa, for his many flaws and sharp tongue, somehow managed to get Atsumu to fall for all of that anyway. He thinks about that little twist to Sakusa’s mouth from a couple of days ago, and somehow doesn’t combust from sheer embarrassment at how much he’s thinking about Sakusa these days.

His thoughts eventually turn to the upcoming fan meeting, as they tend to do. He’s well aware that he’s got to give their public relations team some kind of heads up on what he’s supposed to be doing, but aside from Rintarou’s dubious suggestion, he’s got nothing else to show.

He wonders if Sakusa would have anything prepared if he was in Atsumu’s position, and then mentally smacks himself for letting his thoughts stray towards that direction again.

A flash of bright orange appears in his periphery, breaking into his thoughts, and he only gets a few seconds to realise it’s not the sibling he’d initially thought who was waving at him before Natsu’s skipping over to him, arms waving above her head as she calls out, “Tsumu-san!”

“Natsu-chan!” He yells back, disregarding the looks around them as Natsu bounds up to him, bringing her arms down to spread open by her sides. Atsumu returns the offered hug, ruffling her hair affectionately and yelps when she slaps his shoulder in retaliation for messing her updo.

She moves back, deftly fixing her hair as she stares up at him. “I was calling you a bunch of times, didn’t you hear me?”

Oops. “Sorry,” he replies, rubbing the back of his neck. “Was just thinkin’ about stuff.”

Natsu’s grin, Atsumu has learned over the past year since Shoyou had joined the team, is infinitely as scary as her brother’s when she’s hunting for something. In this case, it’s information about Atsumu’s current predicament, and he looks around surreptitiously before leaning down to tell her about everything, because he really does need all the help he can get.

“And Rin had this stupid idea but it doesn’t feel all that right yet, and I’ve got like, less than four weeks left,” he finishes with a sigh.

Natsu nods along with his words, and Atsumu does feel relieved, but he’s also slightly embarrassed that he’d just unloaded all of his shit onto her when she should be busy walking around, being scouted by potential teams. When he points this out to her, she waves a hand flippantly.

“I talked to like, four of them already. This is way more fun!” Oh, to be in the best female volleyball team in high school, steadily following her brother’s giant footsteps. “Okay, so you said Suna-san had an idea?”

Atsumu thinks back to that cursed photo, and flushes. “Yeah, but, uh. It was just some dumb pageant we did in high school. I’m not gonna strut around for five minutes straight.”

“A pageant?” Natsu’s eyes are sparkling, and Atsumu starts to wonder if he’d made a very, very ill-advised decision to share what was, in the grand scheme of things, a very minor issue, but he’d taken the brakes off when he started blabbing his mouth about this. “Actually, I just saw something the other day,” she continues, oblivious to his current train of thought, taking her phone out and quickly tapping at it a few times before pulling up a video. “And I think you could totally pull it off, Tsumu-san!”

Despite his reservations, Atsumu leans over to watch, and then promptly chokes when he registers what’s happening on the screen.

“Natsu-chan! What kinda things are ya watching?!”

“Tsumu-san, this isn’t even that indecent! Also, I’m literally going to be in college a few months from now.” she harrumphs. “Anyway, it doesn’t look too difficult,” Natsu notes, before adding, “But if you don’t think this is for you, I can always find something else.”

Atsumu is well-aware of the underlying challenge in Natsu’s helpful tone—she doesn’t meet his eyes, but there’s a grin on her lips and he’s still watching the video on her phone, mentally picturing himself doing the same thing. A shiver runs down his spine, but it’s not all unpleasant, and worse comes to worse, he can always laugh and play it off as a joke.

(But he doesn’t think he will.)

“No, this—this is good.” A beat, as the video comes to an end. “Ya think people would actually like this, Natsu-chan?”

Natsu blinks up at him, and then smiles wide and sunny as she pats his shoulder kindly. Atsumu feels like he’s narrowly missed something, but he’s not sure what exactly.

“Aww, Tsumu-san. I feel like your PR team does way too good of a job keeping you out of the loop from what the Internet says about you.”

  
  


***

  
  


**_— 20 days —_ **

“Fist pump, snap and—drop!”

Atsumu’s dying. He’d probably take Natsu down with him if he could, but Shoyou might have something to say about that.

He’s never felt so… Big in his body; volleyball was ultimately a sport of height, speed and power, and when he sets to his spikers, there’s a certain grim satisfaction that nestles in his core at how much his muscles allow him to support the rest of his team to their fullest potential.

This, though, only serves to make him realise how much taller and broader he is from the average Japanese man, and his limbs have never felt this disconnected from the rest of his body. He’s also panting, even though he doesn’t think he’s done much yet. How the hell is he supposed to pull this off?

“You’re doing good, Miya-san.”

His instructor for the next three weeks, a slim woman in her thirties with purple hair tied up in a ponytail grins at his reflection in the mirror, not even looking remotely winded.

Atsumu sighs. “Thanks, Tamaki-san, but I’ve got a long way to go and not a lot of time.”

“That’s true,” she replies bluntly, and he winces. “But I wasn’t lying either. For someone with zero experience, you catch on pretty quick. Guess you athlete types really know how your bodies work, eh?”

He wants to disagree, because he still can’t really figure out how to do that side-step move without nearly tripping over himself, but she’s already clapping her hands as she moves back to her spot to his right. Atsumu follows suit, a few steps behind her.

“Okay, let’s take it from the top!”

  
  


***

  
  


**_— 13 days —_ **

Between morning workouts and afternoon practices with Tamaki-san, Atsumu isn’t surprised to find himself as tired as he usually is during the pre-season training period.

It doesn’t escape his teammates’ attention.

“Tsum Tsum! You wanna check out that new mochi place down the block when we’re done?” Bokuto asks, leaning over him as he spots Atsumu’s weight lifts.

Mochi sounds good, but—

“Can’t,” he grunts, and exhales heavily when he finishes his reps, taking Bokuto’s hand to pull himself up. “I gotta practice for the fan meeting after this.”

To their left, Shouyou’s completing his own set, watched over by Tomas, but he’s looking over towards them with excitement.

“Ooh!” He cries out, and then promptly corrects his position when Tomas admonishes him. “Natsu told me she helped you!”

Helped, pushed him straight down a pit he can’t climb out from, same thing, he muses.

But even Tomas seems to glance at him curiously, keeping his attention on Shoyou’s form when he says, “You’re being really tight-lipped about this thing, Atsumu. I’m actually sort of looking forward to it.”

Atsumu straightens up at that, hand on his hip and the other pointed at Shouyou and Tomas. “Well, ya absolutely should!”

“You won’t even talk about it,” and he turns to face Sakusa, who’s watching him coolly, freaky wrists in action as he skips in place a few feet away. “What are we even supposed to look forward to?”

A grin spreads across his face, but it’s too reminiscent of old rivalries and watching Sakusa across the net for him to be comfortable with it; he’s bristling inside because Sakusa does have a point, the prickly bastard.

 _Why_ does Atsumu have a thing for him, he wonders.

However, everything about the performance pretty much hinges on it being a surprise—and he’s still not entirely sure if he’s got the confidence to properly pull it off.

He doesn’t get to reply, because Meian heads over to snap at them for slacking, and that breaks up their conversation effectively.

But afterwards, when Atsumu’s getting dressed in his usual practice attire and humming under his breath, Sakusa’s still there in the locker room, watching him closely. 

Atsumu waits, fiddling with his phone, because he knows Sakusa will always have questions about things he doesn’t really understand, and he’s not disappointed either this time, because—

“Atsumu. Isn’t it stupid to run yourself ragged over something this insignificant?”

He’d thought the same, to be honest. Tamaki-san is kind, but she’s not one to let him slack, and he’s still sore in areas where he wasn’t used to working out as much. But despite Sakusa’s blunt words, Atsumu, who’s known the other man for nearly two years and knows enough to hear beyond the insult, only smiles back, pocketing his phone as he gets ready to leave.

“No need to worry about me, Omi-kun,” he answers cheerfully, and gets the satisfaction of watching Sakusa’s glower increase in intensity. “It’s only for a couple of weeks more anyway, and then it’s back to mochi places again. Oh, yer still on for tonight, right?”

The glower lessens slightly, and something else replaces the satisfaction in Atsumu’s chest. “Yes. My sister sent a recipe the other day for _takenoko gohan_ and it looks relatively simple.”

The _something else_ grows a little more, but Atsumu squashes it down with the vengeance he holds for rush-hour commutes, subpar plays and Osamu’s voice telling him how much of an idiot he’s being right now. Instead, he smiles, a little more honest than he likes.

“Nice. See ya then, Omi-kun.”

  
  


***

  
  


**_— 10 days —_ **

“Natsu-chan.”

“Yes, Tsumu-san?”

Atsumu stares at the outfit that had greeted him when he’d walked into practice five minutes earlier, along with Natsu’s expectant grin and Tamaki-san’s amused smile. “Where did you even get that from.”

It’s not a question, because he’s more preoccupied with the fact that Natsu seems to have gotten his measurements right, but she answers him anyway. “Miwa-san, of course!”

Of course. _Of course_ Tobio-kun’s sibling was out for his blood as well, because even almost a decade later, those two still share a single mind at times and that must have been transferable to their siblings somehow, because there is no way Natsu came up with _this_ on her own.

 _Then again,_ he thinks, looking at Natsu’s expression as she holds up the outfit that Atsumu’s supposed to wear for the performance, he’s starting to learn that the younger Hinata is probably capable of murder at this point.

“Come on, Tsumu-san,” she urges, pushing the clothes towards him, and Atsumu winces, seeing just how _red_ the entire thing is. “I need to see if it fits!”

He takes the clothes from Natsu with a sigh, and shuffles over to the dressing room attached to the studio, and tries his best to not rip anything. The top’s easy enough to figure out, but it takes him an embarrassing few moments to realise that the other part of the outfit is little more than a piece of fabric meant to give the illusion of covering his legs, until he starts walking and yelps when he catches a glimpse of his underwear in the mirror.

Atsumu thinks real hard about why he loves volleyball and why that meant he had to surrender to the whims of their investors, sponsors and the MSBY marketing team sometimes, and then takes a step out of the room. His arms are pressed close to his sides, too terrified to do more than shuffle over to Natsu and Tamaki-san lest he ends up flashing them both.

Natsu gasps when she catches sight of him, brown eyes sparkling as she jumps in place. “Wow, you look so good!”

He gapes at her. “I look like a freakin’ red pepper.”

The top is sleeveless cropped, which is, well, not something he’s used to but it’s nothing compared to the skirt, which is full-length but is practically rendered useless in that aspect due to the two side slits that go all the way above his mid-thigh, exposing nearly the entirety of his legs.

“You pull it off quite well, Miya-san,” Tamaki interjects, and Atsumu whips his look of disbelief towards her, but she’s actually scrutinising his entire appearance, causing him to stand up straighter, despite the awkwardness that’s currently settling in his bones when he looks at himself in the mirror once more. “I feel like it’d be better if we take half an inch off the hem of your top,” she adds, moving towards him and folding up the bottom of his top, pinning it in place with a hairclip.

Natsu nods all too seriously, and looks up at him. “Yeah, I’ll let Miwa-san know. Tsumu-san, how do _you_ feel?”

Pretty silly, if he’s being honest. He hadn’t really seen himself like this since he got roped into that competition back in high school, and he’s still not sure what the appeal is, but at least the clothes aren’t itchy; there’s some sort of soft lining inside, and they feel light on him. “Okay, I guess. Just kinda awkward right now.”

Tamaki-san hums, and then smiles that particular grin, the one that promises Atsumu he’d have to do more stretches than usual tonight. “Well, why don’t we do the first half with you in that outfit right now?”

He balks, looking back at his reflection. “What if I rip it?!”

“See, that’s why the slits are _that_ high,” Natsu answers him knowingly, and Atsumu privately reminds himself to change her name in his phone to _Natsu-oni._

But he nods anyway, resigned to being at the beck and call of the women around him, before getting into position.

To his surprise, the clothes don’t rip. The slits allow him to move as freely as he wishes, but he learns to adjust his movements and makes a mental note to wear something a little more form-fitting underneath. Afterwards, Tamaki-san also gives him suggestions on where to buy dance belts for men, and he tries his best to not look too much like an idiot.

He also discovers that watching himself move in the red number is worlds different than watching himself do the same moves in a simple tank top and baggy sweatpants, and Atsumu’s eyes trace all over the lines of his body, cheeks flushing when he meets his own flustered gaze in the mirror.

When the song comes to an end, Atsumu inhales, eyeing how similar his ending position looks to that of Tamaki-san’s. _Huh._

Natsu claps enthusiastically from the side, and Tamaki-san flips her hair back, meeting his gaze.

“Ready to try the rest?”

Foxgrin spreads across the man’s face in the mirror in front of him, and Atsumu finally, _finally_ feels like things are slotting into place.

  
  


***

  
  


**_— 1 day —_ **

Something’s niggling at the back of his mind, but between accidentally waking up late and nearly missing the team meeting today, it’s all Atsumu can do to concentrate during the meeting, collapsing into his chair and smiling apologetically when both Meian and Coach Foster frown at him.

This isn’t Atsumu’s first fan meeting, but he still listens attentively anyway as their public relations department’s representative explains the next day’s event to their team: there will be a section where they’ll answer questions for thirty minutes, followed by the meet and greet, and then—

“We’ll allocate five minutes for your special event, Miya-san, is that enough time?”

Atsumu flashes a thumbs up, leaning back against his chair, but a thought immediately occurs to him and he asks, “Wait, does that include me gettin’ ready and shit?”

Bokuto whistles from next to Shoyou, staring curiously at him. “Tsum Tsum! You’re doing a costume change?”

He thinks of the appointment he’s having at Miwa-san’s salon this evening, and sighs. There’s something else he’s missing about today, but he can’t wrap his head around it just yet and it’s really starting to bug him. “Among other things.”

The representative nods, and jots something down in his phone. “We can give you an additional fifteen minutes.”

“Sure.” Miwa-san will just have to work miracles.

The meeting ends not long after, and Atsumu finds himself trying to field even more questions from the rest of the team. Shoyou, in particular, is frowning at him. “Natsu won’t even tell me what you’ve got planned.”

“This is why she’s the better Hinata,” he teases, just to hear Shoyou squawk in outrage.

As Inunaki and Barnes try their best to placate Shoyou while simultaneously trying their best to not insult Natsu, Sakusa slides next to him quietly. He glances at Atsumu, face mask already on, before looking at the scene in front of them when he speaks.

“You seem excited for someone who was dreading this a month ago.”

He is, but he doesn’t feel ready to admit to it. Instead, he turns to face Sakusa, leering at him. There’s space between them, but he thinks they’ve been closer before, and Sakusa hasn’t pulled back from him yet, so he leans in a little, as much as he knows he’s allowed now. “Why, are ya excited, Omi-kun?”

Sakusa’s eyebrows are a dead giveaway for the grimace hiding under the mask. “Any excuse to embarrass you is good with me, Miya.”

“It’ll probably be embarrassing, yeah,” he admits, shrugging as he steps back, quietly mourning the distance between them again. Meian, who looks like he’s had about enough of the commotion, says something about it being time to leave already. “But Natsu-chan’s convinced it’d go over well with the fans at least.” He thinks of the outfit he’ll have to wear tomorrow, and heat spreads across his cheeks when he realises _Sakusa_ will be seeing him in it as well.

He turns away, gathering his things and says, “Anyway. We should go, too. I’ll see ya at the venue tomorrow.”

“We’re not having dinner later?”

Atsumu stops in his tracks, wincing internally. _That’s_ what he’d forgotten, when he’d woken up in a hurry this morning.

They have a standing dinner not-date every Wednesday, borne out of one winter night when the heating had broken down in Sakusa’s apartment and Atsumu was nice enough to house him for the evening so he wouldn’t freeze to death, only to find out that Sakusa’s cooking skills really didn’t go beyond cooking incredibly basic dishes.

And then Atsumu had started cooking for two instead of one on that night, told Sakusa “don’t knock my cookin’ until ya try it, asshole,” and had the joy of seeing the other man’s expression change into something resembling pleasant surprise for one split second before it disappeared under that usual blank look. “There’s more from where that came from,” Atsumu teased, and Sakusa rolled his eyes, but his bowl was empty by the end of the evening. “Come by again when you feel like having real home-cooked food!” He’d said the next morning.

Sakusa had grumbled, but he’d also shown up the following week, and they hadn't broken that tradition once in the last three months. Atsumu hates that it's him that does it.

“I’m not sure what time my appointment ends later,” he says honestly, and quickly adds, “Let’s do tomorrow? After the event? I mean, if ya aren’t busy or anythin’, I should’ve mentioned earlier, sorry.”

He wonders if Sakusa would even stay long enough to see him after his performance, wonders if he’d be weirded out, but he also doesn’t like the way Sakura’s eyebrows currently look like they’re trying their best to meet in the middle as he stares at Atsumu.

Finally, after what feels like a lifetime, but was probably less than three seconds, something causes Sakusa’s shoulders to relax, and the pressure against Atsumu’s chest lightens.

“You’re cooking.”

“But it’s yer turn this week!”

Sakusa rolls his eyes, but there’s a glint of amusement in them, and Atsumu finds relief clogging up his throat. “I’m not the idiot that double-booked his appointments.”

Both of them continue bickering as they make their way out of the meeting room, but Atsumu’s steps are a little lighter when he doesn’t hear that flat note in Sakusa’s tone anymore.

  
  


***

  
  


**_— 30 minutes —_ **

There’s five people left in the line, and Atsumu has been jiggling his leg for the past hour.

Kiyoomi had pointed it out the first time, to which he gets an abnormally flustered “Sorry, Omi-kun” and about three minutes of peace before Atsumu’s fidgeting again.

But none of the restlessness shows on his face.

Atsumu practically beams at every single person he meets, pointing out the merch they have on them and asking them questions about their day and apologising for the long wait to see the team, even though it isn’t his fault at all.

Every time someone asks him what he’s got planned for the special event, he only winks, tells them, “Ya’ll just have to wait and see it!”

Kiyoomi watches from the corner of his eye, how Atsumu would fiddle with his fingers whenever there’s a lull in the line, head bopping to an unheard beat, eyes glazed over before he snaps back into reality just as a fan steps in front of him, and then he’s back to Miya Atsumu, beloved setter of the MSBY Black Jackals and one of V. League Division 1’s charming players.

It doesn’t take a genius to gather that Atsumu would be dancing, but he also hasn’t let anything else slip and Kiyoomi can’t deny that he’s sort of… Curious. Atsumu’s tendency to brag about his skills extend beyond volleyball; their weekly dinner nights have given Kiyoomi more than enough proof of that.

He stifles the dissatisfaction of not having one the night before, and comforts himself with the thought that he’ll at least be able to tease Atsumu about his performance afterwards.

The meet-and-greet portion ends soon after, and then someone from their crew heads over towards their end of the table, looking a little harried as she tells Atsumu that he needs to get ready now.

“Ah, right,” Atsumu says, and something close to fear flashes across his face before it’s buried with a tense smile.

Hinata, who’d sat on the other side of Kiyoomi, leans around to wave at Atsumu. “All the best, Tsumu-san!”

Bokuto turns around in his seat as well and grins. “Break a leg! Wait, no, don’t actually, I take that back!”

Atsumu laughs at them as he gets up, and then his eyes meet Kiyoomi’s and he—

God, he’s so bad at this, because all he says in the end is, “Good luck, Atsumu.”

But Atsumu’s smile grows relaxed, like Kiyoomi’s lacklustre words are actually helping, and then he’s whisked away. The host of the event gives some speech about thanking the fans for coming but Kiyoomi doesn’t bother listening, something pricking underneath his skin as he thinks about Atsumu’s upcoming performance. No one has said if they’ll be able to watch it, but Kiyoomi would be damned if he missed it, and he figures standing backstage would be worthwhile enough. He’s pretty sure the rest had the same idea, anyway.

It’s their turn to be ushered off stage before long as the crew clears up the stage, presumably to get ready for whatever Atsumu has in store, and they’re led to a separate holding room, most of them talking about the meet-and-greet that had just finished and some of their more memorable fans, the others exclaiming excitedly about the food waiting for them in the room.

Meian breaks up the chatter as soon as they’re all piled inside the room. “Alright, good job everyone. I’m glad to see no incidents this time around,” he says, glancing at both Bokuto and Inunaki, who are suddenly humming loudly without meeting their captain’s eyes. “Anyway. I talked with the PR guys, and turns out they got us front row seats for the next part of today’s event.”

Wait.

“We get to see Atsumu up close?” Tomas speaks up first, and then Inunaki’s cackling, interspersed with both Bokuto and Hinata’s whoops of excitement.

Barnes snorts from beside Kiyoomi, not unkindly. “To be fair, Atsumu embarrasses himself three out of seven days of the week on his own accord.”

Kiyoomi nods, and mentally thinks, _looks cute anyway while doing it, the bastard._

Meian sighs wearily, and it’s testament to how often the rest of them hear it that they barely acknowledge it. Instead, their captain ducks out to head to the restroom after telling them to eat before they leave again, followed immediately by Hinata, who’d exclaimed that he’d been holding it in “for the last two hours, and I really don’t think I can wait until after Tsumu-san’s thing.”

As the others head over to the food, Kiyoomi ponders on what Atsumu might be doing right now, and thinks again about that last smile he had.

It doesn’t take him long to reach for his phone, opening his chats and clicking the third name from the top of the list.

_Are you nervous?_

**_3.42pm_ **

_Omi-kun!!_ _ヽ(・∀・)ﾉ_

**_3.42pm_ **

_Kinda haha_

**_3.43pm_ **

_I’ve never done anything like this so I don’t know how well it’s gonna go_ _(((＞＜)))_

**_3.43pm_ **

_Well. You practiced pretty hard for this._

**_3.45pm_ **

_Are ya saying I’ll be fine, Omi-kun?_ _(◕‿◕✿)_

**_3.46pm_ **

_You’re still cooking tonight, Atsumu._

**_3.47pm_ **

_Yeah yeah Omi-kun (--_--)_

**_3.48pm_ **

_Anyway I’ll see ya soon!!_ _(⌒‿⌒)_

**_3.48pm_ **

He stares at Atsumu’s messages for longer than he’s willing to admit, but something settles in his chest after their short conversation, and when their team is once again ushered to the hall, anticipation thrums through him because he’s absolutely certain that whatever Atsumu’s about to do, it’ll be something worth watching.

(He’s always worth watching, in the end.)

The crowd cheers for them when they walk in, and they give a few waves before taking their seats, with Meian standing up in front of everyone as a microphone is handed to him.

“Thanks for the welcome again, everyone,” he begins. “As I’m sure you all know, Miya-san’s currently getting ready for his showcase, so I hope you look forward to it. No promises if it’s going to be good,” he adds jokingly, “But I’m sure he’s got something, ah, special in store.”

He takes his seat as the crowd titters, laughing at Meian’s light-hearted teasing.

Kiyoomi’s sat between Bokuto and Hinata, but he tunes them out in favour of watching the stage and waits, the conversations from his teammates floating around him.

Just as he’s wondering what’s holding things up, the lights in the hall suddenly grow dim; gasps are heard across the place, chatter falling to a hushed silence.

He’s keenly aware that he’s sitting up straight, heart beating a little fast—even his teammates have gone quiet, until he spots someone walking onto the stage and immediately recognises Atsumu’s silhouette, but something looks unusual about it.

The stage lights come on with a bright flare, the screen blowing up a close-up of Atsumu’s figure and then—

Hinata squeals beside him. “Oh my god, oh my god!”

“Whoa, Tsum Tsum!”

Inunaki, all the way at the other end of their row, yells, “Get it, Miya!”

But Kiyoomi barely hears all of them, not even Barnes, Tomas and Meian’s shouts of encouragement.

He’s struck dumb pretty regularly in Atsumu’s presence, whether it’s due to Atsumu’s surprising witty remarks on occasion, or more often, when the man’s sheer dedication to the sport they both love manifests itself in his powerful serves, beautiful tosses and the way Atsumu constantly outdoes himself to be the best setter and player for their team.

But right now nothing escapes his throat, and he’s distantly grateful for that, because the thoughts in his head currently are way too obscene to voice aloud as he takes in Atsumu’s _everything._

The music starts, something foreign that he doesn’t recognise, and Kiyoomi inhales sharply when Atsumu slowly drops to his knees, hands draping across his thighs and the crowd goes batshit insane at that one move.

And Kiyoomi knows in that moment, Atsumu’s got them all in the palm of his hand.

As Atsumu starts to dance, filling up the stage with bold moves and his presence alone, Kiyoomi’s eyes wander everywhere—from the bright red, sleeveless crop top that shows off Atsumu’s arms and the sculpt of his abdomen, to the matching skirt with slits so damn high that Kiyoomi can see nearly all of Atsumu’s thick, _thick_ thighs on display. 

His fingers dig into his own.

There’s also the equally lurid scarlet boots, and Kiyoomi fixates on them for a moment before he glances back up again and almost collapses in his seat when Atsumu essentially _twerks._

Somewhere in his periphery, he registers Barnes commenting, “Damn, I didn’t think he’d go all out like this.”

Atsumu moves, and Kiyoomi can’t help but notice how _good_ he is—sensuous, alluring, and he’s completely drawn in by the way Atsumu’s expressions, so clear on the large screen behind him, reveal just how much he’s enjoying this whole damn thing.

He doesn’t realise he’s leaning all the way forward until the crick in his neck alerts him that he’s straining his muscles.

But he continues watching like that anyway, trying to catch every single movement Atsumu makes; long arms corded with muscle stretched out above his blonde head, swaying to the beat.

Fingers, usually handling a volleyball with ease, now trail down his sculpted body, and Kiyoomi is hit with a severe desperation to feel those same touches on him.

The music changes up, and Atsumu catwalks forward into the light in a confident swagger, hips swaying side to side as the crowd around them hollers in gleeful excitement.

He visibly falters when he catches sight of the entire team in the front row, palming his face to hide an obviously flustered grin as their fellow members wolf-whistle and shout their support at him. Kiyoomi stays quiet, only because his throat is dry from the vision that is Atsumu in a top and skirt, looking sexy as fuck as he takes position once more.

Atsumu gets his groove back soon enough, and he’s so much closer now that Kiyoomi can see the makeup on his features, making his eyes look dark and alluring, and his lips a rosy, pretty pink. Pale blonde hair catches the rays of the harsh stage lights and as Atsumu shimmies, moving his body and sending sultry looks at the audience, Kiyoomi viscerally _wants_ all of that.

Is no longer content with just weekly dinners and the brief touches he gets from Atsumu, the quick brushes of their shoulders and a foxgrin flashed across the court at him whenever he spikes one of Atsumu’s tosses, because the lid that he’d used to keep every single salacious thought he had about Atsumu has been eradicated by the sheer desire roaring through his veins right now.

The crowd grows wild behind him, and Kiyoomi’s pulled away from his thoughts to look at Atsumu bend and—

Spreads his legs wide enough that the slits fall parallel to his tiny waist and all Kiyoomi can see are thick, muscled legs and for a moment he’s legitimately terrified and aroused at the idea that the skirt might reveal even more than it already has.

At one point, Atsumu brings a finger to his lips, brown eyes meeting Kiyoomi’s for a second of an eternity before they roll back like he’s absolutely overwhelmed by the music and something else Kiyoomi isn’t privy to, sucking on the tip of his finger.

The song comes to an end, and Atsumu finishes off with a half-lidded gaze oozing with sex before he goes down one last time, spreading his bent legs wide open into a semi-split.

Silence for a beat, long enough for Kiyoomi to envision all the ways he wants to wreck Atsumu until he’s splitting wide open for Kiyoomi.

And then thunderous applause breaks across the entire space as the fans around them scream—he’s vaguely aware that he’s on his feet, clapping along with the rest of his team members, all of them hollering at their setter.

A microphone is handed to Atsumu, and the hall’s lights come back on, but Atsumu still shines the brightest among them all.

“Glad to know ya enjoyed that one,” he exhales, laughing breathlessly and if Kiyoomi thinks Atsumu dancing in that outfit was hell on his nerves, watching the other man stand up and talk in the get up is somehow better and worse. “Oh, almost forgot,” he continues, before taking a deep, dramatic bow, incongruous with how composed and borderline elegant he had been less than a minute ago.

It only serves to make Kiyoomi feel even more helpless.

Atsumu straightens up from his bow, flushed and smiling. “Thanks again, everyone! Please continue to support us!” He gives a final wave before walking off stage, and it’s only then that the rest of the world slowly filters itself into Kiyoomi’s reality.

It’s also the exact moment that he realises he’s got a, uh, _situation._ Fortunately his jacket is long enough to hide it, and he tries to picture every single disgusting thing he could think of to calm himself down.

“Hey, let’s ambush Atsumu and make him take photos with us before he changes!” Someone says, Bokuto or Inunaki maybe, but everyone else gets swept in by the idea, so he follows along, staying near the back as Meian flags down a staff member to help bring them to where Atsumu’s being held.

They do manage to get to Atsumu before he’s out of his skirt, but he’s naked from the waist up, and Kiyoomi swallows when he realises how pretty Atsumu looks with glittery eyes lined with liner, glossy lips open in surprise at the sight of the team barging into his room.

“What the fuck are ya doing here?!”

Tomas reaches him first, phone ready in one hand and the other clapping Atsumu’s shoulder. “Put your top back on, we’re taking photos.”

Atsumu grumbles, but he does slip it back on with a grin. Everyone jostles to get into the group photo as Barnes does the honours, but Kiyoomi frowns at how close everyone is to one another. Meian spots him trying to slink away and calls out, “You’re getting in too, Sakusa, or I’m restricting your extra practice hours.”

Kiyoomi grimaces at the thought, and tries his best to not touch anyone as they make space for him, but suddenly he’s right next to Atsumu, who smiles at him apologetically.

“Sorry, I’m, uh, still a little sweaty from earlier. Didn’t realise how fucking hot those stage lights were gonna be.”

There’s a bead of sweat rolling down his jaw. Kiyoomi wants to _lick_ it.

Because his mind is still terribly addled from the concept of Miya Atsumu looking drop dead gorgeous in a skirt, Kiyoomi blurts out, “You’re fine.”

It must have been the wrong thing to say. Atsumu frowns at him and asks, “Ya okay, Omi-kun?”

“Alright, get ready! One, two, smile!”

Kiyoomi doesn’t get to answer him, with Bokuto and Hinata clamouring around to take selfies with Atsumu, but he watches them make stupid faces together and his chest burns with something too close to affection instead of the fervor that had been consuming him earlier. When Atsumu bounds over towards him, he tries his best to school his expression into something neutral, cursing the fact that he had to go without his mask for today’s event.

“Do ya want one with me too, Omi-kun?” he asks, voice low and teasing and too much for his sanity to handle.

Kiyoomi flicks his gaze away, but he can’t help himself as he stares at Atsumu’s outfit once again. “Aren’t you uncomfortable? I thought you’d want to change out of that as soon as you could.”

Atsumu hums, toying with the hem of his top. “Huh? Oh, nah. It’s pretty nice, actually. I kinda like how airy it feels,” and proceeds to demonstrate by shifting the skirt around until Atsumu’s showing off his legs, and Kiyoomi almost chokes when he sees a flash of black just above one of the slits.

“Okay guys,” Meian calls out, “Schedule’s over for today, so I’ll see you all for training bright and early tomorrow. Good job again, Atsumu.”

Atsumu does a lazy salute, but it’s clear to see the pride etched across his face, and wholly deserved, in Kiyoomi’s opinion. The rest of them file out with more compliments for Atsumu, and Kiyoomi silently notes how good praise looks on the other man.

Hinata’s the last to leave, casting one last glance at Kiyoomi. “You coming, Omi-san?”

“Go ahead,” he answers, carefully not watching Atsumu. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

When the door closes behind Hinata, Kiyoomi turns to see Atsumu taking off his top, as he starts talking about their dinner later, oblivious to the way Kiyoomi is quietly moving towards him. “I didn’t have time ta get groceries, so do ya mind if we stop by the—Omi?”

He’s got Atsumu trapped against the dresser, but leaves just enough space so that Atsumu can still turn around and stand up straight to meet his gaze.

Slowly, Kiyoomi brings one hand up, stopping short of touching Atsumu’s bare skin.

“Tell me if this isn’t okay,” he murmurs, “And I’ll back off instantly.”

Kiyoomi can feel his jaw clench when Atsumu’s tongue flickers out to lick his lip. “What is _this,_ Omi?”

In lieu of an answer, Kiyoomi’s hand continues their previous trajectory, firmly gripping Atsumu’s waist, and watches with hunger swirling in the pit of his stomach as Atsumu’s eyes widen imperceptibly.

He voices the first thought he’d had when he first saw Atsumu up on that stage, alone and commanding. “You looked beautiful up there.”

Atsumu _blushes_ and Kiyoomi’s incredibly pleased with the discovery that the pink hue brings out the freckles across the other man’s nose.

“Glad to know Natsu-chan and Miwa-san’s choice have been given the Omi-Omi seal of approval,” he jokes, but his voice is quivering slightly. Kiyoomi would have been worried that Atsumu might not be into whatever the hell’s happening right now, but his gaze keeps flickering between Kiyoomi’s eyes and mouth, and Kiyoomi trusts him enough to say no if it comes to it.

But it doesn’t mean he won’t play along, at least for now. “Pass them my thanks,” he says, and snakes the other hand up, up Atsumu’s back to hear his breathing hitch, until he’s got Atsumu’s hair in a grip, pulling it back slowly to expose his throat.

He watches Atsumu’s throat bob at the action, chest rising quickly when Kiyoomi ducks his head, lips barely grazing the edge of Atsumu’s shoulders.

“Okay?”

A huff escapes Atsumu, and Kiyoomi’s both incensed and amused to hear him say, “Ya haven’t shown me anything yet.”

So Kiyoomi takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of Atsumu’s mild cologne mixed with clean sweat, and gives into temptation at last, dragging his tongue along Atsumu’s collarbone, up his neck and finally ending with a nibble to his ear, exhaling roughly as he relishes the taste of Atsumu’s accomplishment and hard work.

Atsumu inhales a soft noise, too quiet to be a full out moan. “Fuck, Omi,” he groans, one hand reaching up to grip tightly at Kiyoomi’s shoulder, “If _this_ is what yer talkin’ about, then I want everything ya got.”

Kiyoomi smiles, and pulls back to look at Atsumu. “Kind of needy, aren’t you?”

He didn’t think Atsumu could get any redder, but he’s proven wrong, watching brown eyes glare at him; their current positions have Atsumu leaning back against the dresser, Kiyoomi hovering over him, and he’s never felt more like a predator at this moment as he catches Atsumu swallowing.

“Who’s fault is that?” Atsumu bites back, but something gives in his expression in the next second and his bottom lip juts out in a pout. _Cute, so fucking cute._ “Omi, come on…”

The grip in Atsumu’s hair loosens, and Kiyoomi drags his hand down to cup the side of Atsumu’s neck, thumb sweeping across the edge of a strong jaw.

It gets a tiny whine out of Atsumu, and then there are hands grabbing his jacket, pulling him close enough to start counting the freckles on Atsumu’s skin, their noses bumping together.

“I’m okay, Omi,” Atsumu whispers, almost like a plea.

Kiyoomi wasn’t even aware he’d been waiting for clear permission, but now that he’s gotten it, he doesn’t waste any more time, more than either of them already have, and closes the last few inches of distance between them.

He’s had thoughts about what it would be like to kiss Atsumu—Kiyoomi had him pinned as someone who’d like it a little sloppy, someone impatient and eager to take.

Reality teaches him that Atsumu starts careful, chaste, simply returning Kiyoomi’s kisses with a low hum as he learns the shape of Kiyoomi’s mouth, but his hands sweep up until they’re cradling Kiyoomi’s cheeks between big, warm palms that keep him from moving too far away. Not that Kiyoomi has any intention, as he continues to press more kisses, slowly coaxing Atsumu to open up under him, Atsumu’s lips yielding and soft from the gloss he’d had on earlier.

Atsumu doesn’t stay cautious for long after that, especially when Kiyoomi licks at the seam of his mouth and Atsumu moans properly at last, lets Kiyoomi guide him to better taste the inside of his mouth, panting when they finally break away. Spit clings to the edge of Atsumu’s mouth and Kiyoomi brings up his thumb to swipe it away, but something flashes across his thoughts and he ends up leaving a couple of fingers resting against Atsumu’s bottom lip.

It takes less than a second for Atsumu to open up again, licking at the edges of Kiyoomi’s fingers, bobbing his head forward to take in more.

When he meets Atsumu’s gaze, Kiyoomi can’t help but drag his fingers deeper into Atsumu’s mouth, seeing brown eyes glazed over with hazy lust as he gradually slides them in and out, watches full lips wrap themselves around Kiyoomi’s knuckles, cheeks hollowed as Atsumu sucks them in.

They should be leaving now, he doesn’t know if anyone’s looking for either of them or if the room needs to be emptied soon, but then Atsumu shifts, tugging at Kiyoomi’s jacket. Kiyoomi takes his fingers out so Atsumu could speak, but he lets them rest against Atsumu’s bottom lip, trailing spit and leftover gloss together.

“No one else is supposed ta come in. They said I could—could leave any time I want, just gotta let ‘em know once I’ve left,” he says in a rush, like he’d heard Kiyoomi’s thoughts.

Kiyoomi raises an eyebrow, smirk curling at the edges of his lips. “And I suppose this isn’t enough, yet?”

Atsumu’s eyes narrow. “Omi, yer such an ass—mmf!”

It’s a wretchedly low blow, to thrust his fingers back in and move one of his legs to press up between Atsumu’s, but it’s worth it to see dark eyes roll back in obvious pleasure, a whine slipping out from around Kiyoomi’s fingers as Atsumu’s hips grind up to meet the sudden pressure against his crotch. With one hand occupied with essentially fucking Atsumu’s mouth, Kiyoomi drags the other down to his chest, stopping to flick one brown nipple, smirk growing when Atsumu’s eyes fly open and his jaw drops, a cracked moan leaving his lips.

“Sensitive,” he notes, and Atsumu’s breathing hitches.

Despite Atsumu’s reassurance, he’s still concerned with taking too much time here, not when they have a perfectly serviceable shower and a bed at either one of their apartments, but he doesn’t want to leave without at least making Atsumu come once in this provocative outfit that’s going to be in the forefront of many of his Atsumu-centric fantasies from now on.

He takes his fingers out of Atsumu’s mouth, and doesn’t give a chance for Atsumu to do more than exhale before he claims those lips one more time, revelling in how pliant the soft, wet heat has become under his touch.

And then he pulls back to drop to his knees.

“Omi,” Atsumu gasps, hands gripping the dresser behind him tightly, like it’s the only thing that’s keeping him upright.

But Kiyoomi’s transfixed by the sight right in front of him; strong legs already a little shaky from everything Kiyoomi’s done to Atsumu so far, spread wide enough that the skirt only covers from mid-thigh to Atsumu’s hips, leaving the rest for Kiyoomi’s eyes to take in their fill. When he glances back up, Atsumu’s face is nearly as red as his attire, but he meets Kiyoomi’s gaze head-on anyway, chewing on his lip.

Atsumu makes such a _stunning_ picture, Kiyoomi thinks he could stay here for a while, but then one of Atsumu’s legs twitches and he’s reminded why he’s currently brought to his knees.

“Do you mind lifting this part up for me?” He touches the front part of the skirt, eyes flicking up to gauge Atsumu’s expression.

Kiyoomi’s not sure how he looks like, himself, but Atsumu must have seen something he likes, because he doesn’t waste time in following Kiyoomi’s instructions, and brings the skirt up to his chest.

The sight is debauched as all hell, with Atsumu displaying himself in such a wanton manner, exposing what seems like some specially designed underwear and the rest of his legs, and Kiyoomi on his knees, reaching to dig his fingers into those thighs, kneading into them roughly to get Atsumu to make even more of those lovely noises from earlier.

“Fuck, couldn’t stop staring at these,” Kiyoomi growls, no doubt leaving indents with his fingernails as he scratches up Atsumu’s thighs, satisfaction curling in the base of his spine when he hears Atsumu’s cry above him. “God _damn,_ Atsumu.”

“Omi, Omi more, please—” Atsumu whines and something snaps in Kiyoomi.

He dives forward and unceremoniously licks from the top of Atsumu’s knee, laves his tongue flat all the way up his inner thigh and sucks at the juncture of his hips, right below the edge of his underwear. Atsumu’s legs buckle and Kiyoomi takes the opportunity to grab his ass, partly to hold him up, but mostly to squeeze those cheeks in his hands and hear Atsumu groan again.

Kiyoomi’s own erection is demanding his attention, but he pushes the thought aside, eager to leave even more marks across the expanse of Atsumu’s legs; pushing forward until he’s sucking and biting at Atsumu’s thighs while Atsumu continues to whimper and whine, breathless _“ah, ah, ah”s_ leaving his lips as Kiyoomi does his best to drive the other man wild.

Atsumu’s scent is stronger here, but it doesn’t bother Kiyoomi as much as he thought it would. It irks him though when he realises he should have planned this whole thing instead of winging it right now, because he can’t suck Atsumu’s cock like he’d wanted to, not without any sort of clear preparation from either of them.

Instead, he brings one hand around to cup Atsumu’s bulge, relishing in Atsumu’s choked moan at Kiyoomi’s touch, and says against his knee, “Can you take your cock out and touch yourself for me?”

Hands scramble to push away the underwear, and Kiyoomi swallows as he helps to push it down until it’s hanging on just one foot, leaves yet another red glowing mark when Atsumu’s cock springs out, long and thick and pretty just like the rest of him, leaning slightly to the left and precum already dripping.

 _Next time,_ Kiyoomi promises himself.

“God, look at you,” he hisses, and looks up to see Atsumu staring desperately at him, one hand already wrapped around his cock, stroking it without any preamble, the other one still holding on to his skirt. “You really are needy, hmm? Already so fucking hard when all I’ve done is mark up these legs of yours.”

_“Shit, Omi—”_

Kiyoomi grins, so pleased with everything he’s discovering about Atsumu today. “You liked hearing how much you want it?”

When Atsumu’s hand only glides faster, Kiyoomi hums and reaches out to grip it tight, stopping Atsumu from stroking himself and causing him to wail.

“Come on, Atsumu. Wanna hear you say it.”

A gasp, and then—

“Yeah, yeah, like hearing it, Omi, _please,”_ Atsumu pleads and Kiyoomi lets go, content to continue biting up Atsumu’s legs, but he doesn’t stop talking, either.

“The things I wanna do to you, you were so good out there, did so well,” Kiyoomi rambles, and Atsumu’s noises devolve into unintelligible whimpers as he chases his climax with Kiyoomi’s praises ringing in his ears. “Can’t wait until I can lay you out properly on a bed, make sure you know just how much I want you all fucked out and a mess from me,” he continues, and Atsumu’s nodding, hips shifting restlessly as his hand moves faster, eyes squeezed shut and head lolled back.

“Mmm. You want that too?”

Atsumu seems to have learned his lesson, because he immediately gasps out, “Yeah, want—want ya to do all that, Omi, oh God, ugh!”

Kiyoomi watches, considering, and then he moves the hand that’s still on Atsumu’s ass until his fingers are slipping through the crack. Atsumu’s hips stutter, and his head snaps forward to stare at Kiyoomi, but the grip on his cock doesn’t falter.

“Omi...?”

With a flick of his wrist, Kiyoomi presses two fingers right against Atsumu’s hole, sees Atsumu inhale a sob as he strokes it dry. “Want me to fuck you right here, too?”

Kiyoomi doesn’t get an answer, but it’s okay, because Atsumu comes right then with a cry, hard enough for him to drop his head back, his fist and lower stomach splattered in white as he shakes in Kiyoomi’s hold. The orgasm leaves him gasping, but Kiyoomi’s own grip slackens when the sight itself nearly drives him to the edge and he instinctively places a hand against his clothed cock, hissing at the first touch he’d allowed himself since he’d cornered Atsumu earlier.

It only takes a few moments for Kiyoomi to bring himself out of his pants, and rucks up his shirt and jacket, too impatient to do anything but give himself a sloppy handjob as he keeps one arm around Atsumu’s legs. He comes a couple of minutes later, muffling his grunt against Atsumu’s skin with one final bite.

Kiyoomi lets himself catch his breath for a couple of seconds, and then takes another look at Atsumu’s heaving chest, shaky legs and overall disheveled appearance. The cum drying on his hand is a stark reminder that they shouldn’t really stay here much longer, and he gets up, looking around for something to clean them up.

“There’s a washroom ‘n a couple o’ towels behind that door,” Atsumu speaks up, his voice hoarse and a clear indication of what they’d just done. Kiyoomi nods, but he presses a quick kiss against Atsumu’s flushed cheek and heads over to the bathroom, doing his best to clean up as fast but as thoroughly as possible. When he walks back out with one of the towels, Atsumu’s taken off the skirt and the underwear, making it easier for Kiyoomi to wipe away the cum on his skin.

(He doesn’t spare a thought to whoever’s going to have to clean those towels; the fact that they’d spent this much time alone in this room is probably damning enough.)

“Omi,” Atsumu says as soon as Kiyoomi takes the towel away.

Kiyoomi lifts his head up to look at him, takes in the way afterglow rests on Atsumu’s body like it belongs there, and replies, “Atsumu.”

Atsumu’s gaze skitter all over, but they end up meeting his eyes once more. “Is it ‘cause o’ the, um, the skirt? Or the dancin’?”

Oh.

“I didn’t plan for things to happen this way,” Kiyoomi says truthfully, but quickly adds, “I would have been… More prepared, at least. Even though I’ve had the last few months to say something.”

Brown eyes blink up at him. “Months?”

Kiyoomi nods. When Atsumu doesn’t say anything, he instinctively steels himself for rejection, wonders if he’ll lose their weekly dinners and the closeness between them that he’d learned to crave. “You don’t have to—if this is a one time thing for you, that’s fine with me too.” It’s not, but Kiyoomi will learn to deal with it.

But Atsumu shakes his head, and something resembling a sly, demanding look appears on his features.

“Didn’t ya listen? I said I wanted _everything_ ya got.”

Heat flashes up across his cheeks, but Kiyoomi grins back, stalking forward to steal a kiss, and sneaks one hand down to give Atsumu’s ass a squeeze. “Get dressed,” he growls, and his grin curls up into a smirk when Atsumu _shudders._ “And then I’ll show you what everything really means when we get back to your place.”

**Author's Note:**

> I had another sakuatsu wip going on right now, but the brainrot for this was so real that I wrote this over the course of three days because I needed to get it out there
> 
> also I fully intended to just write omi going to town but the fluff found a way to sneak in (can't escape my brand)
> 
> lemme know if you liked this one!


End file.
